


In Interest of Yavanna

by CharlemagneGryffis



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms
Genre: Asgard, Author loves to chat in the Comments, Cabbage Patch Hobbits, Dwarves In Exile, F/F, F/M, Female Ori, Foreign Language, Hobbit Culture & Customs, Hobbits, I have plans, Language Barrier, Languages and Linguistics, Lemony Snicket-style, Linguistics, M/M, Magic, Ori is Dwalin's Child, Reincarnation, So Many Plans, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Valar, Young Dwarves, also tho bc my plans are shifting and becoming brilliant, btw i didn't mean to make her fem i just was trying for chapter content and it ran away, but yeah anyway i wanted a tag for ori is dwalin's kid, chapter 3 is 5000 words long just about, chapters: 3000 words long each supposedly-ish, damn i'm nine words off 10000, except the start, for so many different fics, i need to write another chapter now, obvs it's a fave trope of mine, okay so thats bullshit, thats sucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-09 01:04:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10400292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlemagneGryffis/pseuds/CharlemagneGryffis
Summary: The tale of Belladonna Took is a strange and quite uncertain one, but my dear reader, you will find that there are many more stranger things in this universe than a reincarnated jotun prince falling in love with Dís, princess of Erebor.





	1. Chapter 1

You’d think that Loki would fall somewhere dark and unpleasant, where perhaps Titans rule asteroids and his mind would be twisted – well, Loki’s mind _would_ be twisted, but not by the astoundingly malicious and egomaniacal villain that was named Thanos. Instead, Loki would be twisted by a magic outside the borders of Odin’s realms, in a place that Heimdall had never seen and neither Bor nor his father had dared to touch, instead deciding to hide it away like one would a secret treasure, a sacred name or a golden ring that in any other universe might be called a _horcrux_.

Horcruxes, my dear reader, before you go any further, you must know are an abominable evil, made by means so heinous that the only books that carry such knowledge have long since been destroyed or taken into the custody of a witch far brighter than any star in the sky. They keep one alive by the splitting of the soul, tethering little more than half to the mortal plain so that the other remaining piece of soul will never pass over to the worlds beyond. This is also the part that is conscious and most self-autonomous, unfortunately. The creation of a horcrux is an act that is utterly vile and would never be attempted by any sorcerer that does not wish to attract the attention of demons and destinies far greater than themselves.

But I am getting off-track.

Loki fell and he fell to the land of _Aman_ , Aman being the lands west of Arda. Part of the world so aptly named _Middle Earth_ , for it does indeed middle between the Earth you know, reader and one you do not, Aman and Arda are two separate continents, Arda being the origin place of Aman’s residents. Middle Earth is home to many beings you may – or may not – be unfamiliar with. For example, the dwarves and elves roam Arda, the elves returning to Aman when they suffer heartbreak, tragedy or are close to death – for elves, much like elves of many fictional stories, but unlike those of house-elves, who more resemble brownies, live a long, long, _long_ time and did once call Aman home before their migration to the eastern lands.

Other beings you may be familiar with are Men and Wizards – though, these Wizards are no ordinary Wizards. These wise old beings are _Maiar_ , or _Istari_ in the common tongue of Westron. _Istar_ is the singular term, just as _Maia_ is the singular for Maiar. The Maiar are the lesser of the _Valar_ , altogether the _Ainur_ , but more powerful than the majority of Arda’s occupants – with some very old, very wise and very magical elves being the exception.

When Arda was coming together as a land, only just being populated by elves, dwarves, men and hobbits – I’ll get to them in a moment – five Maiar, each servants of a different Valar, came to the land of Arda and made themselves places in the world, helping in both war and common affairs…if they felt like it. Over the years, some of the Maiar drew away – those two Istari known as the Blue Wizards drew away from Arda, heading to the far, far east and the far, far south, never to be seen from again and the Istar known as the Brown Wizard tucked himself up nicely in the Greenwood of the Nandor Elves, or Wood Elves, as you may know them better in other pieces of fiction, tending to the plants and animals of his favoured forest.

It may please you to think that Loki ended up in Aman, considering the lords and ladies of the Maiar that live there and their supposedly extravagant powers and supposedly great responsibilities, but I am sorry to say that Loki did not sail from Aman to Arda and join the Order of Wizards or the White Council. In truth, I believe it would be more accurate to say that Loki, as per usual, caused an incident of great magnitude with consequences that were not very good for his mental health…as per usual.

Because you see, my dear readers, in the land of Aman, where Gods live and no-one dies, Loki died.

This caused an immediate panic. There isn’t much reason it wouldn’t – thousands upon thousands of elves live there, either as dead spirits themselves, or as physical beings who came to Aman when their time in Arda was Done. To realise that someone has the ability to die in the lands of the Undying – as it is so aptly named – is quite the horror shock.

Loki had come falling from space at hundreds of miles an hour, pulled by the gravity of Middle Earth as anything his over-all mass would be, not even mentioning how likely it is that his magic reached for the nearest safe place. Loki could have landed in the great ocean of _Belegaer_ , or somewhere else just as unpleasant. At least in Aman, Loki was seen to, his body assessed and his magic – a writhing mess of emerald that looked something like the less-than-fictional Gravitonium of Midgard – kept in place, rather than let loose to potentially destroy, poison or otherwise harm another being in Aman.

This is when, of course, Yavanna the Gardener, Green Lady, wife of Aulë the Smith and Planter of Hobbits, realises something very important.

“He still has a soul,” and of course, this is all the information her fellow Valar need to start arguing while Yavanna herself sneaks Loki’s body and magic away, out of sight, taking him to her garden.

Hobbits, as I mentioned earlier, are another type of being that lives in Arda. Just as Aulë created the dwarves and Eru Ilúvatar, the Creator of All Things, made the Valar, Maiar, the elves and the race of men, Yavanna created her hobbits.

Now, my dear reader, you may be thinking some strange thoughts such as: what are hobbits?

Hobbits are creatures of the earth. They are a strange mix of things and many myths say that they are from the union of dwarf and elf, but this is simply not true – though, maybe Yavanna took inspiration, for the similarities are indeed striking. Hobbits come from three distinct stock – the Stoor Hobbit, the Fallohide Hobbit and the Harfoot Hobbit. Stoor hobbits have a fondness for water and have famously gotten on with Men, with pale skin and long limbs and extremities, if not tall height. In my research, however, I discovered that the average hobbit is three foot five, taking into account the tall Fallohides who prefer the company of elves and the shadows and boughs of tall trees and the small Harfoots with their browned skin, hairy, disproportionately large feet and infamous trade deals with dwarves.

Over time, of course, most hobbits are of mixed blood. Some might have rounded ears and some might have pointed, just as one may be two foot high and another four. Indeed, Yavanna seems to love diversity, within a standard template.

Hobbits themselves know where they come from, unlike Men who at times disbelieve that the Valar and Eru Ilúvatar exist at all. The reason that hobbits know who and how they were created however, is simply due to the fact that they recreate the process at least once within three generations of a single family.

When a set of hobbits – usually two, sometimes three, no more than five – want a child but are unable or do not want to conceive naturally, the partners would go to their garden where a circle of stones surrounds a patch of grassless earth. Then, they would bury a strand of hair from a minimum of two parents and each put in a single drop of blood alongside a gift – the drop of blood being the most important part of the ritual in some hobbit’s eyes, as it indicates how many children the hobbit family wants.

Then, they bury the items, waiting, watching until Yavanna answers. The only known refusal in written hobbit history that I have been generously allowed access to indicates that Yavanna returned the gift given. A note: at the time, the two parents had both been unknowingly infected with a deadly poison and subsequently died quiet and unexpected deaths in their beds a month later.

Once the gift is accepted, a sprout will grow and very quickly it will be joined by a few hundred similar sprouts. In time, for it varies hobbit to hobbit, the sprouts will change, becoming flowers. Whether the flowers are bloomed are another matter, but at least once a day, the hobbit parents must Tend their Yavanna Patch, for with Yavanna’s magic at work, many weeds that have known to strangle a growing Planted Child will creep between stems.

It would be a good moment to point out other aspects of this ritual – to note more on the meanings of flowers and suchlike and other traditions, an example being Valar Lockets, which all Planted Children receive at some point in their childhood – however I predict that is much too much information to swallow at one time and it would do well to continue on with Loki’s adventure after dying.

Yavanna takes Loki to her garden and buries him gently in a hole in the ground. This hole is not smelly, nor is it wet nor cold. Rather, it is warm and homey, for all that a hole in the ground can be homey. Yavanna cuts her palm with a pair of garden scissors, pressing her bleeding palm to his cheek, where an open wound has long stopped weeping. Singing in her wind-like _Greentongue_ , as her hobbits call it, magic comes from the earth around them, golden tendrils like dust rising up to encase the emerald magic. It fights for a while, a very, very long while and by the time Yavanna has coaxed it into the dead body, her brothers, sisters and husband surround them.

“Tis folly, beloved,” Aulë tells her, “he is long gone.”

“But his soul is still here and I have long loved Planting hobbits that have nothing in my Fields, not happiness, not joy…”

“He is no hobbit, sister,” Irmo warns, “You can’t know how it’ll work with him as he is. Can you not see what base form his skin takes?”

A pause for me to explain, but Irmo, otherwise known as Lórien, the Lord and Master of Dreams, Visions and Desires, now references something that may not easily be seen by mortals eyes. Loki is a shapeshifter, as you, my reader, may or may not know. With this ability, Loki was able to hide himself, posing as an Aesir once he had a reference, which he received through Odin, King of Asgard, when he was picked up as a baby. Unfortunately, this also had the side-effect of Loki growing up misinterpreting his own race, not realising that his so-called base form was not pale-skinned, but blue as his Jotun, Frost Giant father’s, marked with darkened, raised tribal markings that named him son of Laufey’s Line.

Even dead, Loki’s body stays stuck in his most familiar form, for shapeshifting is both a magic and physiological art that combines the two. However, the Valar can all see his ‘base form’ due to their ability to see souls as they are – and Loki’s soul depicts him as a Jotun.

“I’m not blind, Irmo,” Yavanna murmurs, before picking up a dried petal from the ground by her knee. “Golden everlasting. It’s meant to be.” She reaches forwards, tipping Loki’s cracking jaw open until she can rest the petal on his tongue. “Have a good life that might end better than this one.”

There is little to say about what happens next. It is an indescribable event that in its most basic essence, is the journey of a soul and all things connected to it either by chance or by fate into the small body of a Planted hobbit.


	2. Chapter 2

In another universe, mayhaps Bilbo Baggins, Dragontongue, Ringbearer would have housed the reincarnated soul of Loki Laufeyson, son of Odin and prince of two planets. It would make perfect sense, yet no sense at all. A Loki who grew up a certain way, under certain conditions, then let loose on Arda? Chaos is one word to describe what might have been, what has been. Bilbo Baggins was a perfect hobbit and yet he wasn’t – he was an adventurer, a respectable madman and a wayward storyteller who by a small act of both mercy and cowardice, saved Middle Earth from complete destruction.

So yes, in another universe, Loki being reincarnated into the Planted body of Bilbo Baggins would make perfect sense.

In this one, that is not so.

In this universe, Loki becomes not only female, but Belladonna Took – and my dearest reader, if you do not know who Belladonna Took is, you are missing out on someone truly extraordinary. Another author would start Bilbo Baggins’ tale in Bag-End, or perhaps on his front porch, with the repercussions of said reincarnation. I start with his mother.

Belladonna Took is born on a windy night. There is nothing particularly special or dark about this particular wind, except perhaps that it’s a little colder than what anyone in the Shire prefers. Her parents have been waiting patiently at her Yavanna Patch for several hours, steadfastly keeping watch even with their nine other children making a fuss, used to and annoyed by new siblings after living with so many others. A secret, perhaps a little early to tell, is that Belladonna Took will be number ten of twelve.

When Belladonna first breathes air, tiny fauntling lungs filling with sweet carbon dioxide – fauntling here meaning child, or rather, toddler – Yavanna’s voice echoes in her mind as it always does when a Planted child erupts from the ground, though none might remember it except Belladonna. Her name is whispered and she gets out a little, happy chirp of a _“Belladonna!”_ before another name crushes her good spirits, a sudden feeling of utter despair and hurt drowning her, washing away all traces of joy.

 _“Loki”_ she hears. _“Silvertongue, Snakemother, Svadilfari’s mare.”_ Belladonna is awash with tears for days, nothing her parents or the healers who come visit her doing anything to help her – not like they could, for Belladonna remembers here, something Yavanna did not account for when she reincarnated the dead Jotun into a hobbit’s body. Only one remembers a past life and Glorfindel, _Laurefindel_ , would be the only one to understand, yet have no way to help her either. For, my dear reader, could you not think of why she might cry? Why Belladonna might scream?

Let me explain.

Belladonna Took is a Planted hobbit, her body, brain and all that comes with being newly-born only just opening up to the world. She is sensitive to everything – touch, light, sound – and she is her own self. She is not Loki. She is Belladonna – and Loki’s memories are pouring into her head and she is a being with a sense of self and she is not capable of processing, she shouldn’t be able to. Any other being would have had a heart attack and died then and there at the first explosion of foreign feeling.

Of course, no-one other than Loki’s reincarnation could this happen to either.

As it happens, I am aware as to how she survived – how she still survives, to this very day. Loki and Belladonna are entwined more tightly than a knot and it is Loki’s magic which keeps Belladonna’s body from going into complete shutdown.

It is weeks before Belladonna stops crying though. The entire Shire worries for her until the happy news is spread, ordinary tea parties bringing out the good mead in celebration. Belladonna’s family worries over her constantly for months afterwards, still years later fearing when she goes through ordinary childhood hurts, weeping a little – they fear she won’t stop if she starts and it only happens once, for a single day, when her play-nemesis stands on a grass snake by pure accident, snapping its neck.

From the mouth of Belladonna herself, under vow I can only state that ‘she was reminded of Jormungandr’.

As she grows, she becomes far more mischievous. Even her relatives say that it’s more than Took blood – one even dares to say she’s not right in the head, before they’re hunted down and quietly glared at by eleven identical sets of eyes. I can only imagine what it must feel like to be faced with all of Belladonna’s siblings, who each on their own are frightening. However the hobbit in question would dare not say a word to me about the Took’s, thinking it blasphemous to say even a single word against them – so I really can only imagine.

It is also worth noting how quickly Belladonna left the Shire, once hitting her tweens – ‘tweens’ being much like the Midgardian word ‘teen’, here, but in hobbit slang rather than English and referring to the ages thirteen to twenty-eight, any over that being considered young adult hobbits, despite age of majority being thirty-three. Belladonna did not break the record for how early she left on an adventure, as such the Took way is, to ‘appease adventuring spirits’ – but, Belladonna did break the record on how long and how far, making her way from the Shire all the way to Rohan, back again and then north and west, going close to the borders of orc-country and then rushing to the Blue Mountains, two dozen orcs on her tail for her trick with her shimmering, lethal doubles.

It may be prudent to mention that Belladonna does have some control over her magic – ‘some’ being colloquial with ‘all’, in this instance, though far less practice and control than she might like.

Visiting the Blue Mountains, Belladonna is quick to discover mined-empty dwarven tunnels. Exploring them takes time and effort that she is willing to give, if it means putting off going home so soon after returning from Rohan. With glowing palms and her magic stretched out, searching for life and any potential dangers from the crumbling supports, Belladonna is ready for anything the world has to throw at her.

Except, apparently, four youngsters who speed down the tunnel in a mining cart, slamming into her and causing them all to be flung about like rag-dolls.

“What in Yavanna’s good green earth-”

“Kili?”

“Oh Maker, **amadaz u’menu** is going to _kill_ us-”

“Fili, my head hurts-”

“-ow, ow, ow, ow-”

Belladonna gets her bearings, sitting up and rubbing her head, palms dim. With her particularly good eyesight – from natural hobbit genes and a little bit of magic – she can see the four bearded men all rubbing parts of their bodies as they get to their feet, the shortest and seemingly strongest of which giving one with a bowl-cut mop a hand up.

“There ya go, Ori.”

“Thanks, Gimli,” Ori says in a soft, shaken voice, looking into the darkness and pinpointing Belladonna in a second, freezing. “Oh!” His hands fret, the other dwarves noticing her as she gets to her feet slowly.

“What are you doing in the mines?” The tallest of them asks, voice a mix between warning and curious. “You’re no dwarf.”

“I’m sure that no-one is supposed to be here.”

“Aye, but you aren’t a dwarf, we won’t get as punished as much as you will for breaking the rules,” cuts in the short dwarf. “Cut your bear-”

 “Gimli, she doesn’t have a beard! Don’t be rude to a lady!” The dark-haired dwarf hits him over the head, easily able to reach what with the foot difference, something Belladonna notes isn’t particularly unusual for a hobbit, but strange for a dwarf.

“A lady?”

Belladonna nods a little, not speaking as she watches their conversation play out.

“I think so, at least,” the dark-haired one looks at her, all naivety and honesty. “Are you a lady?”

“Yes, I am,” Belladonna says cordially, nodding again a little deeper, wordlessly greeting them. “Who might you all be? Not miners – these mines have run dry.”

“…we were exploring,” says the short one a little gruffly, tugging at his beard before straightening and bowing stoutly. “Gimli, son of Gloin, at your service, milady.”

The others are quick to follow him, as if they’d forgotten protocol – something Belladonna is not intimately familiar with as a Took or a Prince of Asgard, what with Odin’s high-functioning ability to both deal with matters of state and keep an eye on her, scolding her for any improper gesture she made or even didn’t make.

“Kili and Fili, at your service.”

“Ori, at your service.”

There’s a moment of silence before Belladonna speaks, voice slow and reluctant as she does not quite want to reveal her identity to those that might make trouble for her, just because she was feeling the need to walk in the unknown.

“Belladonna Took, daughter of Gerontius Took, of the Shire.”

“Is Took your Clan?” The dark-haired one, who she thinks is called Kili asks excitedly, surprising Belladonna as much as impressing her.

For you see, Belladonna has met dwarves before on her travels, usually on trade routes. She would, for lack of better phrase, hitch a ride and when introducing herself they oft misinterpreted her words as her name, calling her ‘Belladonnatook’, as if her last name were very much part of her first.

“Yes, yes, quite. You aren’t like other dwarves I’ve met.”

Gimli snorts, “That’s princes for you – raised to think sideways as well as up and down, as my **amad** says.” He rolls his eyes, “You should see them in front of men. All ‘why’, ‘how’, ‘what’ and ‘when’ with men.”

“Amusing,” Belladonna replies, even as her heart thumps faster than it should. _They are princes_ , she thinks, glancing at Fili and Kili, knowing there was much she could do with that information. _If I am to be in trouble, I can use them as leverage_ , she decides, ignoring the patch of guilt that springs at the thought. They seem young to Belladonna and Belladonna knows that it’s hardly true, until you count years with dwarves in mind rather than hobbits. _Dwarves grow slowly, in body as well as mind and are as equally long-lived_.

“Are you hurt?” Ori asks her softly, obviously still quite shaken – or perhaps just a nervous disposition. Belladonna wonders which.

“No more than you are. Just a few bumps and bruises…” it is then that Belladonna realises something a trifle important. “Oh dear. My mental map has disappeared.” If she really tries, Belladonna knows she can get out, but there’s danger to her in this form – she’s not invincible and despite how hobbits breathe the same air that plants and trees do along with the one that men breathe, making most air suitable even deep, deep down underground, she just as much needs sunlight. _And I have been without **that** several days now. The crash made me drop my composure_.

Belladonna looks down and her hand is shaking.

“Could you perhaps lead me out?” She implores, watching them glance at each other in sudden apprehension.

“Uh, well…we could, but it wouldn’t be the way you came in,” Kili explains, scratching behind his ear. “Fili?”

Gimli, Kili and Ori look to their fourth companion, who to Belladonna seems to be the established leader of their little group, waiting. Fili’s face takes on a long look of focus and concentration, one that reminds her of Thor as a teen, strangely enough.

“…we don’t know another way out,” he finally says after some long moments, looking up at her. “Lady Belladonna, we are going to be leading you into one of the most populated dwarven cities in Arda and would appreciate it highly if you would accompany us into it and then to a half-mile past the exit.”

“As long as I see the sun within the next six hours, you have an agreement from me.”

Fili frowns at her words but nods, before holding out his hand. Belladonna takes it, struck suddenly by his posture and demeanour as he follows Kili back through the mine shaft. _Oh. No, I was right. He is young – they’re all young._

Fili holds her hand in a way a child might, his shoulders lax as if he’d let her lead him if she so chose. Those that have interacted with young children before will know what I mean. It is how, despite his size and general physique, he is small. He has no true ego yet, with only a child’s confidence and a child’s fear and respect of adults. Fili before exhibited signs of maturity – thinking over what it would mean to bring a stranger into a dwarven stronghold without permission and making a decision with no adult to support his reasoning – but it means nothing when Fili is at the apparent mental age that he is.

Belladonna lets Fili lead her through the tunnels, holding his hand firmly, for to her he seems trustworthy and as honest as his brother. He has a valour in him that reminds her of Sleipnir, who had faced punishment for the future crimes of his siblings without complaint. It’s a painful, aching memory but Belladonna knows that in most cases, she is right when it comes to judging ones character, with many examples to back up her statement – Thor and Odin only two on a long, long list.

“Are you an adult, Lady Belladonna?” Kili chirps.

Belladonna nods. “Yes, I am, almost at least. I have two years before my final majority.”

“What’s hobbit majority?” Ori questions quietly.

“Thirty-three.”

Gimli points at her feet, “Why’ve you got hair on your toes?”

“Should I ask dwarves why they have beards?” Belladonna replies, smiling a little at his mollified look. “I don’t know, but I suppose it must be to keep us warm – the undersides of our feet are very hard and we don’t wear boots.”

“Dwarves have soft feet,” Kili frowns, “Mahal made us to have strong arms and delicate hands – he must not have thought about our feet like your Maker did.”

“We call her our Gardener,” Belladonna reveals with a small smile, staying quiet ever as Kili pesters to why. It was most likely not something Belladonna should have said, but so far in my research it does not seem to have caused any grief, unlike other reveals of hobbit culture. “Say, how long do you think until we reach the surface?”

“Do you need the sun like flowers do?” Fili questions in a more thoughtful voice than Kili’s, glancing over at Belladonna with a frown. “Your hand is shaking. Do you need the sun like flowers do?”

Belladonna checks her free hand at that, swallowing at the harsh spasms her arm is making. She tucks it into her chest, clenching her jaw.

“Are you ill?” Kili’s eyes widen in fear, “Oh no, you are!”

“I can last a few more hours,” Belladonna says, despite knowing perfectly well that she has severely misjudged how much ‘stored sunlight’ she has left.

“No you can’t, liar,” Gimli immediately calls her out, somehow, before he picks her up and starts to jog down the tunnel. Belladonna yelps at the treatment, hoping to all the gods and Valar that the next dwarf she meets doesn’t see her arse-first even as a full-body shudder racks through her.

“Hey, wait up!” Kili calls, he and Ori rushing to catch up, Fili having never let go of her hand. By my calculations, this is a good thing, as due to Gimli’s stature at the time, not quite reaching his full height and girth yet, he would have over-balanced at some point, rather than letting Fili focus on keeping Belladonna at a certain verticality.

It also saves their lives, when the floor of the mine-shaft caves in beneath Gimli’s feet.

“Fili!” Belladonna shouts as Gimli abruptly drops, holding onto her legs tightly, scared yells exciting his mouth at overly-loud volumes. “Fili, don’t let go-” they halt, Fili on his front, Kili having grabbed his leg.

“Ori, get Gimli and Bella!” Kili shouts, the gangly dwarf showing his true colours in an instance as he leans over and grabs Belladonna’s arm, pulling both her and Gimli out of the hole as if they were nothing more than a stray piece of rope. “Fili,” Kili tugs his brother out of range of the hole, dropping onto him as he turns onto his back, curling into him. Belladonna gets her grip on the floor, breathing deeply as Gimli wails loudly, sounding more like a babe than the tween he looks like.

“Hey, hey,” Belladonna leans over, tugging the burly short-stack over into her chest, where he immediately starts to cry louder, sound only barely muffled by her coat. Ori kneels tiredly, eyes bright with adrenaline and fear. He looks like he’s about to cry too and she motions him over, knowing more noise would make it worse on Gimli and Kili. “We’re all okay, we’re alive and safe. You were all very brave, shh, shh…”

Ori calms faster than the others do, as he would as the only one not truly in danger and Gimli falls asleep, snores causing Kili to look over, face full of forlorn fondness. The change is apparent, the lack of smile frankly disturbing to Belladonna.

“Both of you, get over here,” she orders in a soft voice, Kili crawling over, tugging Fili to join their little dogpile. Belladonna can still feel shakes and shivers but perhaps there’s something to being in close contact with the Smith’s children, husband as he is to the Green Lady. As I am not a hobbit nor a dwarf and have never had such a rush of fear, I can only wonder at the mysteries held between Aulë and Yavanna’s children.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so that 2000-3000 wordcount thing was bullshit, I couldn't stop myself.

Once, long ago in a far-off land, Dis was the jewel of Erebor – the Princess of All Princesses or, as they say in the secret language of the dwarves, **nilhikhel**. A word to the wise, the dwarvish language known as **khuzdul** is one prized and kept safe from outsiders and as such should be treated like it does not exist, even when it is being used in front of you – though, you’d be lucky to hear a single word outside a dwarf mountain.

Princess Dis still was the Princesses of All Princesses when Smaug, Chiefest and Greatest of Calamities ransacked Erebor and sent its people fleeing – and she was still Princess of All Princesses when she and her kin journeyed to the Blue Mountains, far from Smaug’s wrath. As such, Dis is an authority in dwarven society that should be respected and feared and certainly not to be laughed at.

“You’re very beautiful,” is Belladonna’s first sentence to her, accompanied by Kíli and Fili’s childlike giggles at the way Dis blinks in confusion. Perhaps I should rephrase my prior sentences. Dis is an authority in dwarven society that should be respected and feared – certainly not to be laughed at by anyone other than her sons, who she would sooner lay down her life for than punish.

“Quiet, boys,” Dwalin, son of Fundin orders them while Belladonna looks longingly at the tall doors to the outside world, shards of sunlight filtering through geometric shapes meant for archers with a certain degree of skill.

“I- I am not beautiful,” Dis disagrees with Belladonna, eyeing her. “Are you perfectly well, hobbit woman?”

“Her name’s Belladonna of the Took’s, of the Shire,” Kíli cuts in, looking rather well-pleased with himself, even as Fili bites his lip.

“She needs sunlight, like a flower. I don’t know how long she was down there before we found her, but it’s been too long, I think.”

“…looks a bit peaky,” Dwalin surveys the hobbit, who hums happily.

“Eir used to say that a lot,” she moves one foot forwards, towards the gate, but immediately overbalances. Fili and Kíli rush to help, but are held back by Dwalin as Belladonna drops to the ground, barely missing bashing her head on carven rock. “Oh- oh dear, I am not well, not well at all.”

“You can’t leave just yet,” Dis says, eyes never leaving her. “You were trespassing.”

“If you want to punish me, I will receive it gladly – but please, let me see the sun, or I won’t be alive for you to punish.” Belladonna flashes the dwarven woman a grin then. “Oh you dwarves, far more…personable than those dratted smiths. Those two were the bane of my existence for so very, very long a time.” She laughs then, quite hysterical.

Dis looks at her, uneasy as she motions to Dwalin. “Take her to the gates. Cover her eyes. Take her to a cell when it seems proper.”

“Yes, yer ‘ighness,” Dwalin grunts before hefting her up, Fili and Kíli staying back as they go to their mother, taking each of her sleeves.

“ **Amad, amad-** she is a _hobbit_. She’s a plant! She needs sunlight-”

“You’ve said,” Dis interrupts shortly, ‘shortly’ here meaning abruptly, with a slight tinge of annoyance. “Now let go of me and go to the training ring – did you mean to skip your lessons with war-hammers or was it an accident?”

Belladonna watches the two princes of Erebor rush away, faintly worried for them. “Are they not too young to learn the art of war-hammers?”

“No,” Dwalin says, “now shut up. It’s none of _your_ business, hobbit.”

“I’m the favourite granddaughter of the Thain of the Shire,” Belladonna grips Dwalin’s tunic as she feels her legs wobble beneath her, but continues with a confidence that does not match her countenance. “So does that make me their equal? The Thain took over from the Kings of Arnor, once they passed.”

Dwalin looks to her sharply at her words, nose-ring twisting, yellow torch-light shining off the burnished silver.

“Mahal save me, don’t say you’re some sort of hobbit princess, lassie?”

Belladonna giggles, “I’m going on an adventure.” She falls silent as Dwalin groans, muttering about stupid royals and their idiotic tendencies. They make their way across a large, bustling stone platform that holds a large market – all moving out of their way, staring and muttering audibly about Belladonna. At least, that is what Belladonna believes – most of what they say is in the secret dwarven language and while she remembers every syllable she hears, Belladonna does not understand it.

 _How can it be that this version of dwarvish has no linguistic similarities to any other language of the Nine Realms?_ She thinks to herself, distinct remembrances of foreign, alien tongues drifting through her mind from where Loki’s memory lays. It is a conundrum in itself, for Loki had learned all the languages he could, both written and spoken, over eleven centuries worth of travels and study under his belt. Belladonna similarly holds much in her lingual repertoire, that repertoire being made up of two separate dialects of Elvish, Quenya and Sindarin; Westron and Hobbitish; Rohirric – and quite obviously, Hobbit’s Greentongue.

 _Dwarvish itself seems to be structured well,_ Belladonna notes in the quiet of her mind, going over the quiet phrases she heard from the local dwarves. _Just like their architecture_.

Belladonna would be quite right on both accounts. My study of dwarves – what little I have been _allowed_ to study – shows me that dwarves as a whole care little for imperfection. The straightness of a line and the faultlessness of a curve are two things that much fascinate and appease their sensibilities. Once past the market-place, Belladonna can see even more clearly how this deep-seated joy for symmetry and proportionality influences their building. The floor slopes at a perfectly benign yet potentially lethal angle should something heavy and pointed be rolled downwards, levelling out only at the base of two identical staircases that lead up to the balcony over the gates, stout and lacking of handle, set at ninety-degree angles.

Dwalin and Belladonna go up the left staircase, coming to stand in the middle of all the guards lined equally across the wall, a large gap set in the centre where Belladonna supposes the leader of Ered Luin might stand to greet visitors. However, before she can stand up on her toes and see beyond the stone barrier in front of her, Dwalin wraps a rag tight around her eyes.

“Oh!” Belladonna squeaks at the suddenness, forcing herself not to react in her own defence even as the sun shines down on her, replenishing her magic tenfold. Dwalin grunts again and they stand in quiet. The feeling of sun on her skin is something Belladonna appreciates after so long underground. A smile appears on her face, one which quickly disappears as Dwalin once more hauls her off.

“To the cells with you. Maybe you’ll make some friends – got a lot of other so-called accidental trespassers to deal with.”

“How long do you predict I shall be imprisoned?” Belladonna questions casually. She knows that while she might be fine with being detained for a long time, her physiology and family might disagree with her.

“Depends. You planning on trying to escape?”

“I don’t quite know my way around the mountain, unfortunately – a break-out would be a mistake on my part, unless I allied myself with another prisoner who could guarantee my safe departure from here.”

Dwalin’s grip on her arm increases to the point that Belladonna knows it will bruise. “Don’t go getting any ideas, lassie.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t escape – I wish to converse with Fili, Kili, Gimli and Ori again. They are quite astounding. You must be quite proud of Ori.” Dwalin makes a noise of confusion, Belladonna removing her blindfold with a little tugging, eyeing him. She pauses to think back on what she said, momentarily wondering why she said it at all before making the connections once more. _I must have realised while sun-deprived_.

Smirking, Belladonna quickly thinks on how she might sow discord, the need to do mischievous things rising in her, fluttering like a butterfly in her heart.

“Do you know why hobbits are sometimes called rabbits?” She questions the dwarf, who glances at her with narrowed eyes before she continues. “It’s because we have lots of children in short spaces of time. Why, the largest recorded family of hobbits was forty-two! Forty-two children, not even mentioning the six others the gentlehobbit had made with his mistress across the Brandywine!”

Dwalin gives Belladonna a disbelieving look at this, though it might have been rather more a crossover between outraged and shocked. “I don’t believe ya!”

“Believe me, dear dwarf – but in any case, hobbits have lots of children and hobbit-children all look rather alike as fauntlings. Very, very alike, apparently. Hobbits don’t realise how similar their children look until they take them on holiday to Bree. When my parents took the twelve of us to Bree on a walking holiday ten years ago, most of the Big Folk couldn’t tell us apart, we were so similar in looks!”

“ _Twelve?_ You are one of a dozen?” Dwalin, to Belladonna, looks rather overwhelmed at this.

Before we go any further, my dear readers, it may be pertinent to know that dwarves are, as a species, not fertile. They have few children and one is lucky if they have two. The few exceptions are lauded across the dwarven kingdoms, if they let themselves be discovered, for proportionately, for every six dwarf males, there is one dwarf female. It is why they are so prized and if one dwarf finds himself having more children than they have ever seen in a single room before, to give sixteen as an example, then proportionately, they will have at least two daughters.

“Oh yes – four girls including myself and then eight boys. We Took’s are a prosperous clan, always large families. I have to wonder how the Baggins cope – they only usually have two or three. But yes, in any case, once it was brought to my attention, I realised hobbits have a talent – and that is recognising which fauntling is which and who their sires are.” Belladonna grins wide at that, leaning close to Dwalin as she speaks her next words. “As I said before, you must be quite proud of Ori.”

They continue to walk for several more seconds before Dwalin stops abruptly, eyes widening far larger than Belladonna thinks possible for the surly, large-eyebrowed dwarf.

“No.”

“Yes,” Belladonna replies, eyes twinkling.

Dwalin shakes his head. “No.”

“ _Yes_.” Belladonna nods enthusiastically.

“ _No._ ” Dwalin shakes his head violently, matching her as she continues to nod.

“Yes.”

“ _No_.”

“Yes-”

“ _No!_ ”

“Why don’t you go and ask Ori’s mother? Get it all sorted out?”

Dwalin narrows his eyes, before gripping her arm ever-tighter. Belladonna refuses to let out a sound of pain as she feels something _crack_.

“I’ll do that – lucky for me her potential mother’s in the same cell you’re going in.”

Belladonna, at that, blinks quite confusedly, letting Dwalin drag her through the Blue Mountains to the prison. _Her? Ori is…a her?_ Belladonna would have sworn Ori was male, but dwarves must be different, if Dwalin calls Ori a…a girl. _She did not dress like Dis does,_ Belladonna notes, _not at all. She was almost…disguised as a boy._

_Oh._

_Oh, that is interesting._

Belladonna looks around quickly, viewing as many dwarves as she can while thinking to Ori and Dis, trying to compare them to the only definitely male dwarf she knows by name – Dwalin.

“So you know her mother, then?”

“Intimately, as you might have guessed,” Dwalin replies, sarcasm heavy in his voice. “That is, if she’s actually mine. The Sisters Ri are supposedly that – sisters. Ori’s only three years younger than Prince Kíli. That Gimli’s even younger – fifteen year younger than Kíli.”

“It’s interesting how you stray away from the topic of these ‘Sisters Ri’,” Belladonna prods as she spots a potential female dwarf in the market, rather enjoying herself at Dwalin’s expense as he puffs out air.

“Dori is a proper dam, ‘bout hundred and seventy-something. Between me and my brother, Balin…and Nori is a hundred and forty-five. I’ve had to fill out her prison paperwork enough times. If she was Ori’s ma, she’d have been barely past seventy.” Dwalin is visibly uneasy at that, causing Belladonna to frown slightly.

“Is seventy an important age in dwarven culture?”

“Seventy-five is second majority. Dwarves are proper adults at seventy-five.”

Yes, my dear readers, as unfortunate as it is, should Ori’s suspected parentage be true, Dwalin son of Fundin would have fornicated with an at-the-time underage Nori, child of Kori. A usually deplorable act rendered only vaguely less terrible by the fact that dwarves have two majorities – one at thirty and the second at seventy-five, when they have completed their apprenticeship in their chosen Craft. But it is here that Nori may be just as suspect – for while it is not unheard of to take bed-partners close to your second majority, having a child is taboo and despite certain fertility issues, dwarves do have preventive methods, for before and after conception.

Belladonna, realising this, immediately loses all sense of amusement, face becoming a blank slate.

“My opinion of you is much changing, Master Dwarf.”

Dwalin nods at that, not saying anything in his defence. The two make their way through the market, heading off to the far right, entering a low-ceilinged tunnel that Belladonna cannot see in, due to lack of lights.

“How can you see a thing?”

“Dwarves can see in the dark,” Dwalin grunts, Belladonna stumbling as they start down a sudden set of steps. The route they take to the prison is convoluted and complex, one that for the life of me, I cannot remember nor disclose in any case. Much like Belladonna, many non-dwarves that step foot in a mountain cannot find their way out, just as non-hobbits would be trapped within the Shire if they did not have a guide.

Once they reach the cells – dark caves with surprisingly clean quarters and a stone bed – Belladonna and Dwalin are greeted by an auburn-haired dwarf twirling a key as they sit on top of an unconscious guard. Dwalin growls, setting Belladonna down on a bench with a short glare before stomping over to the dwarf.

“Nori.”

“Dwalin,” the dwarf-dam says slickly, grinning as Dwalin grabs the key, taking it off her. “How do you do this fine day?”

“That one-” Dwalin points “-said something very interesting about you and Ori.” In an instant, Nori is pinning Belladonna with a sharp look.

“What would a hobbit know about little old me and mine?” Belladonna keep a firm face, causing Nori to raise an eyebrow. “I know who you are, by the way. I saw you Took’s in Bree once.”

“I know she’s some sort of hobbit princess,” Dwalin interrupts, waving it off, “what I want to know is if Ori is…” he waves again, obviously not wanting to say it. Belladonna watches with keen eyes, seeing how Nori clams up and shakes her head.

“No idea what you’re on about.”

“Is Ori yours?” Belladonna questions simply, the matter of Nori’s age in mind when she decides she doesn’t want to draw this out. Nori turns a shallow shade of pale, looking to Dwalin, who becomes distressed at her look.

“Is she?”

“…aye, she is. Related to Durin in more ways than one.”

“Dear Mahal!” Dwalin curses before moving into dwarvish, beginning an argument with Nori that Belladonna can’t understand, to her own frustration. Sitting there on a bench, Belladonna almost wants to get up and leave, but there’s no point – she can’t find her way out and she’d be caught, unless she undertook a dwarven glamour and that took power, took much power for her newly-regenerated magic. She’d hurt herself permanently with the constant drain if she wasn’t careful.

Eventually, however, they stopped arguing, Dwalin sending Nori off and chucking Belladonna in the dwarrowdam’s empty cell – ‘dwarrowdam’ here meaning dwarf woman, or in this instance, Nori child of Kori, mother of Ori, child of Dwalin. By Belladonna’s count, she waits five hours and thirty-two minutes for someone to release her, however she doesn’t have to wait that long before Gimli comes to see her.

“Milady,” he mutters, coming up to the bars of her cell. “Are you in here?”

“Yes, I am,” Belladonna gets up, brushing down her dress and coming over, using the wall as a guide to the door. “Sorry, I can’t quite see in here.”

“Why not use that little light you had in the tunnel, before we crashed into you?”

Belladonna pauses, “That light uses…power that I don’t have. It’s sunlight. I don’t want to waste that. The amount I use in this mountain to see is much more than I originally anticipated.” For on-the-spot lies, Belladonna thinks that one is pretty good. “How goes your day, Gimli?”

“Good. Got to the see the princes beat up in the training ring. My ma wasn’t even mad that I went exploring – she said it’s good for my constitution,” Gimli pauses, “What’s a constitution?”

“Hmm…how to explain a constitution? I suppose a constitution is something similar to an ego, character or perhaps she was referring to your tolerance, experience.” Belladonna surmises, “You mother thinks that exploring will improve your character, make you a more well-rounded dwarf. Exploring definitely improves certain survival traits and your general instincts – I’m sure you learnt something important when the ground caved in beneath your feet.”

“Aye.” Gimli nods firmly, shivering slightly, though Belladonna can’t see him do it. “Was worried my ma was saying something un-nice.”

“Un-nice isn’t a word,” Belladonna wrinkles her nose.

“Ach,” Gimli waves her off, “Anyhow, the princes got beat up in the training ring as punishment. I talked to them after and they said Ori was sent home to Dori for a row. They said their **amad** would want to talk to you, probably…they were laughing a bit though, something happen? They wouldna tell me.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Belladonna shrugs, gripping the bar of her cell-door. “They found it quite funny when I told the Lady Dis that she was beautiful.”

Gimli makes a sound of incredulousness crossed with despair. “You _what?_ You called- holy Mahal, why did the boys _laugh?_ Aunt Dis is- is going to be seething!”

Belladonna thinks back to her face, humming in disagreement, “She actually seemed rather embarrassed.”

“You’re _in for it_ , milady, Aunt Dis doesn’t _get_ embarrassed!”

Gimli leaves soon after that and when the five hours and thirty-two minutes since her original imprisonment pass, a dwarf by the name of Rokkr lets her out, guiding her in silence to a kind of office with a stone chair, a desk a little off to the side covered in papers.

Dis sits on the chair and Belladonna thinks it much looks like a throne.

“You were caught trespassing in the old bronze mines. How do you plea?”

“Is this a trial?” Belladonna instead questions, looking around interestedly at the watching dwarves, numbering eight in total, not including the guard by her elbow. “If so, I’d like adequate representation.”

Dis purses her lips before motioning to a white-haired dwarf down by the desk. “This is Balin. He is our mediator. He will make sure there is equal consideration for both defendant and prosecution. But it is dwarven way to first get over the hardest matters before introductions and suchlikes. So I will repeat: you were caught trespassing in the old bronze mines. How do you plea?”

“I plead guilty, but add that if I wasn’t there, then not only might young Gimli Gloinson and Ori child of Dwalin-” Belladonna does _not_ miss how Balin splutters, how the scribe spills a pot of ink “-be dead, but so would the two young princes.”

Dis blanches. “I beg your pardon?”

“The mine-shaft – on the way back to Ered Luin through the tunnels, the floor caved in. Who knows what might have happened if I had not been there to act as a link in the chain of dwarflings. I’m sure your sons would have told you, had my health not been in question at the time, but you were rather busy sending me to the balcony and subsequently, a cell.”

Dwarvish fills the air. Again. By now, Belladonna is quite fed up with being the only one in the room not able to understand the conversation.

“Excuse me,” she pins Balin with a look, attracting his attention specifically, “you are mediator, are you not? I politely ask that if any conversation pertaining to these events be spoken in Common Tongue.”

Balin grimaces slightly before raising his voice. “ **Shazara.** All must speak in Westron while in proceedings with a non-dwarf, as per the request of the defendant.” The dwarves fall quiet, only mutters between each other to be heard before Dis speaks again.

“Please explain in detail, from your discovery of an entrance to the Blue Mountains to being brought to me, what has happened. Your presence brings not only a security issue but an apparent threat to the Crown Prince of Erebor and his current heir.”

Belladonna, taking this in, nods. “Of course. I should start by explaining that as a Took, we are encouraged to go on an adventure, differing from most hobbits. We have a wanderlust that cannot be quenched by a simply walking holiday to Bree. I have travelled far south to Rohan in my journey and upon returning to the Shire, set off again north. Unfortunately, I did come across a pack of orcs and did flee far west to these mountains – I found a tunnel in the far, far north and travelled several days underground, mapping it. I would have eventually found my way back and out again, unless I found another exit, but unfortunately I found myself the target of four dwarflings in a mine-cart.”

“Go on,” Dis says, face flinty with a repressed anger.

“They bashed into me, I lost my map and the control I had on a trick of hobbits that I have been gifted with – to use our inner sunlight as a torch.” Belladonna raises her hand, bringing a white light into existence for a brief few seconds, shivering at the sudden drain on her magic. _I have not healed yet._ “I let too much out before it fell apart. I lost too much sunlight and started to feel the ill-effects. Also, I forgot my map of the tunnels.”

“Gimli introduced himself after some faffing, then the Princes and Ori. After some discussion, Fili thought it prudent to bring me to Ered Luin to face trial for my trespassing, alongside getting some sunlight on my skin – it did very much help, by the way.” Belladonna smiles a little, nodding to Dis. “Your sons are quite the treasures, very brave and clever boys.”

“I know, it gets them into much mischief.”

“Oh, but mischief is good for the heart!” Belladonna grins. “Mischief lets you learn the habits of people, improving your intellect and awareness of consequences, should you get caught. What stories my brothers could tell you of all my antics – Hildigrim would certainly take care to tell you of the time I organised a cat-fight between my sisters by sabotaging each of their apple pies and telling them I saw the other do something.”

“Indeed,” Dis’ lip flickers upwards, “But perhaps we are getting off-topic. If you would continue on with your tale of todays events.”

“Of course,” Belladonna’s smile turns calmer. “Once deciding to return to Ered Luin, we started making our way, but I was rather…wobbly, from lack of sunlight. Gimli carried me and a good thing Fili was close by holding me up – Gimli is rather short, you might know – because when the floor crumbled under our weight, Fili grabbed me. Gimli held onto my legs, I to Fili’s hands, Kili to Fili’s legs and when we were all about to slide off into oblivion, Ori showed his true colours and hauled us all up into a giant dog-pile. Each child was much distressed and I offered them what comfort I could while slowly losing my grip on reality, before we finished our trek through the mines to meet you, with only one other incident.”

“That incident being?”

“Kili decided to act as our ‘cave-in detector’,” Belladonna rolls her eyes. “He walked ten feet in front of us and kept talking the entire time – running into a wall when deciding he wanted to see us while doing his job. He ignored us when we tried to warn him of the corner. He’s fine though – dwarven heads are harder than stone, apparently.”

“He does similar things often, tis no surprise to hear of it,” Dis says wryly. “I understand what you say when you describe the potential demises of the dwarflings, however. Those mines aren’t safe – it might be easier to cave them all in, in fact, so that no other explorers nor intruders may find their way into a deep dark hole they cannot climb out of.” She looks to Balin. “Make a note of that.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Balin nods, looking to the scribe who writes it down on another sheet of paper. “Now that is cleared up, perhaps we may talk of sentences? I would bring up the fact that there is a hobbit within the Blue Mountains without permission as a point in the prosecutions favour and that the dwarflings did not run into more trouble than they did already as a point in the defence’s.”

“She should work off her debt to the dwarves for trespassing,” says one of the unnamed dwarves in attendance.

“No,” says another, “she needs to become our ally. She is privy to the location of one of the entrances and the Ereborian Royals owe her a debt-”

“She trespassed! She is owed no debt while being a trespasser!”

“If a hobbit can find her way in, a goblin could – we need to increase security!”

“Imprison her below the surface!”

“The Ereborian Royals should take custody of her until they see her fit to be called dwarf-friend!”

Dis stands, “ **Shazara!** ” They fall silent and Belladonna believes she finally knows at least one word in dwarvish: silence. “You bring up good points. Security will be tightened. Recruit miners that are aware of the risks involved in setting up caves to fall in. Get the Miners Guild on this before the week is out. They will have a maximum of two years before the first of the cave-ins. I want minimum casualties and I want the entire mountain informed.”

“And what of the leader of the original colony?” A dwarf with a rather dirtied tunic says, greyed beard bright on their dark skin.

Dis rolls her eyes, “If you had any objections you would have made them already, Gorvis.”

The dwarf – _male or female?_ Belladonna wonders – lets out a short bark of laughter before nodding. “Fine. I waive responsibility though. You or your brother leads the ceremonies.”

At their words, Dis seems to take a great, depressing weight on herself. Belladonna can extrapolate from their conversation. Leading funerals is always a task, she finds, agreeing with Dis new countenance highly.

“Agreed. Adventurous commonfolk will be encouraged to stop their jaunts if they’re not regulated by the council that’ll be organised for this. However, I do believe, as Wati said, that the Ereborians should take custody of Belladonna of Clan Took, rather than imprison her.” There are complaints and objections, before Dis brings silence with another, loud **shazara**. “Enough. As your **nilhikhel** and **amadaz e’nanùdoyaz’Durin** , I have this authority. We will take custody of the trespasser and will judge when she has gained trust enough to be called dwarf-friend and therefore permission to live and travel among dwarves.”

Now, my dear readers, you may be a little confused. Previously, I explained that Dis was and is still the Princess of All Princesses, the **nilhikhel**. However, the phrase ‘ **amadaz e’nanùdoyaz’Durin** ’ is a lot longer and rather more confusing. Khuzdul is a secret language so therefore I can only extrapolate from what little I have picked up. ‘ **Amad** ’ is mother, the addition of ‘ **az** ’ meaning ‘of’. ‘ **Amadaz** ’ therefore must mean ‘mother of’. The next section of this is rather confusing and I shall skip over the formalities within, but in essence I have translated the latter half of this phrase as ‘children of Durin’. ‘ **Amadaz e’nanùdoyaz’Durin** ’ subsequently translates to ‘mother of children of Durin’. Contextually, Dis must refer here to being the matriarch of the Durin Line, as the last and eldest apparent female heir. I hope that helped.

Gorvis nods, “Got us there, Dis. So, does the hobbit understand?” He looks to Belladonna, who nods slowly.

“Do I have permission to send letters to my family until such a time that you might release me? And might I have permission to go outdoors? I fear I might wither away, here in the dark.”

“Good behaviour will get you rewards. If it is a health requirement, I will see to it that you shall see the sun at least thrice a week – will that suffice?”

“It will, if said ventures are longer than a few minutes. I need to…let’s say, ‘charge’. Absorbing sunlight is done over a few hours.”

“Fine,” Dis stands, “This trial is adjourned, the results of which being the release of Belladonna of Clan Took into my custody and the talked-over increase in security. You’re all dismissed.”

The dwarves stand. “Your Highness.” They stay still until Dis comes down from the throne, then they move, Dis waving away Belladonna’s guard.

“I have her. Be on your way.”

Her guard bows. “Thank-you, Your Highness.”

Dis looks to Belladonna, eyeing her dirty clothes and backpack, which after hours and hours, she hadn’t yet taken off. Belladonna looks right back at her, waiting for Dis to speak.

“…welcome to the Blue Mountains.”


End file.
